


Creating the Illusion

by jennyjar



Category: River (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8625883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyjar/pseuds/jennyjar
Summary: AU for the whole series:  On the night of October 21 Stevie doesn't tell River she loves someone, and she doesn't get shot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Anybody and anything you recognize is not mine.

**A/N:** English is neither my first, nor my second language. Proceed at your own risk.

 

_River: “We are born alone, we die alone.”_

_Stevie: “You always say it, but there is more to this quote, you know.”_

 

1.

He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he knows, knows, knows there is something going on with Stevie. He feels like there is a thread he should be pulling at, questions he should be asking, words he should be saying. But he does none of it. He carries on as usual.

They eat their food. It is Chinese, for fuck’s sake, not that much better than the burgers he often forces himself to eat because Stevie likes that stupid drive-through. Chinese, where every item on the menu tastes the same to him. But she’s asked him to come. He’s come. So, he eats.

Stevie counts points, as their dishes are served, and he is looking at her and is waiting, waiting, waiting. And nothing. And then they have a fight. No, not exactly a fight, just… something, which feels like a fight to him, because Stevie is upset, and he has no clue what it is he’s said. Done. Not said or not done.

And then they are outside, on the street, and Stevie gives him the money. Ten thousand quid. “Take care of Frankie,” she says, “If anything happens to me… take care of Frankie.” He stares at the money in his hand, but he doesn’t understand what it is she is asking. Not the words, not that. Frankie is Stevie’s number one concern, always has being, always will be. But this, this money, and the way she looks at him, when she says it… 

“If anything happens,” Stevie repeats.

River opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Nothing at all. It suddenly terrifies him, because he knows, knows, knows he has to say… something. Frozen, he watches Stevie wait for his reaction, before shaking her head. She then takes several steps away from him, start crossing the street.

She turns in the middle of the road and yells, “Screw you, Mr. Magoo.”

It jolts him, makes him take a step to follow her. Right in front of a white van. The brakes are screeching, the driver honks and swears through the open window. But River doesn’t stop until he reaches her.

“Screw you,” she repeats as he approaches, “screw you…”

He is almost next to her, when she looks past him, and smiles. River turns to look at the car approaching from the other side, but he doesn’t see at whom Stevie smiles. Instead, he notices a hand of the driver, reaching out of the car window. There is something in that hand, and it looks like a gun. River has no time to reflect whether it is indeed a gun, or who is driving the car, or why anyone would want to shoot at them here and now. Instead, he quickly turns back to Stevie, grabs her arm, and pulls her close to him, so his back is to the approaching car, and his body shields hers from…

The sound of a gunshot is loud, and River’s left shoulder explodes in pain. He cries out and squeezes his eyes shut to rein in that pain. When he opens them, the car has already turned to the side street, and is speeding away. It is too dark to tell the make of it or the plate number. River curses and feels Stevie trying to push him away.

“You, nutter, what was that…” she stops mid-shriek, her eyes transfixed on the smoldering rip of his coat at the left shoulder. She inhales sharply and repeats, but quietly this time, “You, nutter.”

She is still very close to him, and he is still gripping her arm, and she is looking at him like it is she, who’s just got shot, like it is she, who is in pain. And River forgets about his bleeding shoulder, and the sodding car that he couldn’t identify, and he wants to say… He wants to say, to do… something.

But Stevie is already in a police mode. “Are you alright? Can you move? How bad are you hit?”

He scoffs and shifts his left arm slightly. “I’ll live.” Swallows, before continuing, “You…”

“Fine,” Stevie bites out. She then rips her scarf off, presses it to his left shoulder, tells him to hold it, and drags him to the curb, while calling for ambulance and for back up. He follows, compliant, just making sure that his body at all times is between the street with the passing cars and Stevie. Who knows if there are any more psychos at whom she smiles before they try to kill them.

There are people coming out of the restaurant and from the nearest houses. They are loud, they ask questions. Someone brings a chair for River, but he only scoffs at it. Stevie urges everyone to keep calm, directs people to stay away from the road, and asks to come forward those, who actually saw anything. Through it all, River forces himself not to hold on to her, not to hover, but he can’t stop following Stevie with his eyes. And she can tell, and she tries to stay as close to him as possible, while taking care of all the police business.

The ambulance and the back-up arrive. The street is blocked, the people are interrogated, and the medics assess River’s shoulder, while a young officer questions Stevie and he. By now River must’ve lost enough blood to feel a bit queasy, his shoulder is in pain, so he lets Stevie do the talking. He notices, though, she doesn’t mention that she’s recognized the driver, or the car, and that makes him feel even more queasy.

Chrissie shows up and speeds up the whole process, so that River and Stevie are finally taken to the hospital.


	2. 2

**Disclaimer:** Anybody and anything you recognize is not mine.

 **A/N:** English is neither my first nor my second language. Proceed at your own risk. 

2.

The ambulance ride is short, but rough. There are several sharp turns that make River’s wounded shoulder jiggle enough to send pain shooting down his arm and chest. He moans through the clenched teeth, and Stevie once again looks at him like it is she, who’s got shot, like it is she, who is in pain. She also makes several attempts to make his position a bit more comfortable.

“Quit fussing,” he scowls.

She frowns.

“Just tell me who was in that car!?”

“River,” she shakes her head.

“You didn’t say anything to the officer. Can you tell me?”

“River, please,” she begs, and he thinks that the queasy feeling is about to get the better of him.

Once in the hospital, they have to wait with the rest of the sods who’ve being unlucky enough, or stupid enough, or both to get knifed, shot, or beaten that night.

“You smiled at him.” It comes out before River has a chance to think it through. “You smiled…”

“You are jealous,” she looks at him stunned.

“I am not jealous,” he quickly denies. “This isn’t jealousy. I just want to know…” She waits. “You smiled at him, and he then… and he then… He was aiming at you! He could’ve…you,” he chokes on his own words and can’t continue.

“Breathe,” Stevie says softly. “In and out.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He glares at her. “Who are you protecting? Is he your… boyfriend?” the word tastes worse than all the drive-through burgers and Chinese crispy ducks combined.

“Would it be so surprising that I had a boyfriend?” Stevie’s smile is so sad, that the taste in his mouth gets worse. “Haven’t you ever wondered?”

River just can’t believe…this. Any of it. “You don’t tell. I don’t ask.”

Stevie isn’t smiling anymore, “You are never curious…”

This whole night is a disaster, River thinks, and being shot seems not to be the worst of it. “So, this is the kind of block you go for...” He is chocking again, but he can’t stop now. “If it is sex you wanted…”

Now, it looks like Stevie is about to cry. “Then what? You would’ve given it to me?”

River can’t find any better response than to scoff.

Stevie gets coffee, which River waves off. It doesn’t happen too often, but right now he wishes one of his dead ‘buddies’ would just show up and make him not think about this… About Stevie.

“You took a bullet for me,” she says softly, staring into her cup.

“I would do anything for you,” is what he wants to say. “Anything.” But he only shrugs his right shoulder instead.

“Thank you,” she continues undeterred.

River scoffs.

“And I don’t have a boyfriend,” she finishes.

There is a long pause, when River thinks that he should say he doesn’t care either way, and that it is none of his business, and that they are just partners, and… And… Or turn to Stevie, and… And what?!

“Then tell me who it was,” he says at last, when he manages to plow through all the nonsense that clutters his brain tonight. Honestly, all of his ghosts together couldn’t have rattled him as much as this… Whatever this is. “Tell me.”

Once again Stevie looks like it is she, who’s got shot, it is she, who is in pain, and River begins to actually loath that look.

“You are a police officer, who was being shot at!” Feeling that at last he’s found a footing in this conversation, he is confident. “You are my partner. How am I to keep you safe? How, when you won’t say who he is? What if he tries again?”

“He won’t.” Stevie says it, as if she doesn’t quite believe it herself. Then she continues with more conviction, “I told Chrissie where to start, and I promise, we’ll go to the station and I’ll give the official statement. Tomorrow. After we take care of your shoulder.” That look of hers, the one River’s come to loath, is back, and his confidence recedes. “I promise,” Stevie repeats.

River knows he has no choice but to give in. Still he makes the last push, “You are not leaving my sight until we sort this thing out.”

Stevie, her blue eyes suspiciously moist, bursts in laughter. “Aya aya, captain!”

It is hours before his shoulder is examined, x-rayed, and patched. Thankfully, the bullet hasn’t hit anything important. There is just a fairly deep graze, which requires stitches, a patch, and some painkillers.

They make it to River’s flat by morning. River practically falls on the couch, and he is quite sure he won’t be able to move from it for a while. Stevie looks as exhausted as he feels, but she insists on getting him out of the blooded clothes. With his left arm in a sling, River is more a hindrance then help. Besides, his meds make him woozy. Still for the next ten minutes he obediently turns, bends and twists at Stevie’s command, while she is peeling his coat, jacket and shirt off of him. By the time he is in a fresh shirt, they both are breathless.

“We need to get you to bed,” Stevie says, looking down at him, as if surveying a difficult project. “The doc said you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to rest and drink more fluids.”

“Hmm,” is all River can manage at the moment. Frankly, he isn’t sure what’s wrong with him resting on this couch, until, let’s say, tomorrow.

“Should I make you some tea first? Coffee?” She can be quite overbearing, River muses, but he’d rather have her here, pestering him, than out and about, endangering herself to…

“River?” He glances up at Stevie, standing over him, and realizes that in the bright light of the window behind her Stevie seems to shine. River thinks that the meds probably make him not only woozy, but high as well. He smiles anyway.

Predictably, Stevie comes to the same conclusion. “To bed with you then,” she reaches for his right arm.

“Give us a minute, will you?” Unable to handle all that light any longer, he drops his head on the back of the couch and closes his eyes.

“Alright, but only a minute,” River hears Stevie says, as she plops next to him, and he smiles again.

He wakes up hours later. He is still on the couch, the meds have worn off, and his shoulder hurts like hell. He is also thirsty. “Chinese,” he thinks in disdain. And then stops thinking altogether. Stevie, slumped by his side, her small hand on his chest, whimpers softly in her sleep. The breath puffs push lightly at the strands of her hair. He moves just a little, so he can see her face. Make sure that she is actually here. That she is alright. Stevie…

“Oi.” Erin is standing in the doorway. While they’ve being looking for her body, the girl’s taking a habit of showing up at his flat. Eating his food. Giving silly advice. “I’m bored,” she says. “You?”

River looks at her, then back at Stevie. “So if you are scared to death of losing them…”

“Yes,” the girl nods.

“…if you can’t imagine what would happen to you if they are not around, if would you survive at all…”

“Yes,” the girl nods again.

“…if you want them next to you always, even when they are annoying, and loud, and you don’t mind it when they make fun of you, or ask you to sing, or…”

“Yes,” the girl says. “Yes. All of it.”

“So this is?” There is no one to respond. The girl is gone. But Stevie is still here, asleep by his side. So, River smiles and answers himself, “…love…”


	3. Chapter 3

3.

The sound of the mobile ring doesn’t wake Stevie. Instead, she stirs, mumbles, and tries to nestle closer to River. He watches her, enthralled, refusing to think about last night’s shooting, his burning shoulder, Erin’s body, they still need to find, and anything else he, in all honesty, should be thinking about now. When Stevie’s mobile, still unanswered, goes quiet and the woman remains asleep at his side, River breathes a sigh of relieve.

The mobile goes off again, and this time Stevie is up. Awkwardly she scrambles to sit up straight, elbowing River in the process. She fervently pats her pockets, almost rips her jacket digging in the hole in the lining, and finally fishes the ringing mobile from between the couch cushions. It goes quite before she has time to answers.

“Shit!” Stevie stares at the screen. “Shit! Chrissie is going to kill me!” She jumps up, narrowly avoiding another elbowing incident. “Shit!”  
She looks at River, “I missed three calls from her, and I promised I’d ring as soon as we left the hospital.” She checks the time. “Four sodding hours ago!”  
“Chrissie doesn’t know that,” River considers saying. And she, probably, is too happy to have both of them survive the shooting to worry about missed calls. He doesn’t say anything though, because he finds it much more enjoyable simply watching disheveled and harried Stevie pace around his living room. Alive. 

“Alright, I’m going to tell her… What?” she frowns at River. The mobile in her hand goes off once again. “Shit! What do I say?” She taps the screen to answer, “DS Stevens.” 

The voice on the other end of the line is so shrill, even River can hear it. With a grimace, Stevie moves the phone away from her ear, covers the receiver, and glares at River, “What? You want to talk to her? No? Then keep quiet.” And adds, “And wipe that daft grin off of your face!” 

“Chrissie,” back to her mobile, Stevie changes the tone. “I am sorry. I am… yea, I know…” While talking, she walks out of the room. Suddenly alone, River remembers his back, stiff from sitting still for hours, his throbbing shoulder, the sound of the gunshot on the quiet street last night, Stevie’s look, like it is she, who’s got shot, it is she, who is in pain… He takes a deep breath – she is fine, they will figure it out, and then he will… He will…

While Chrissie keeps Stevie on the phone, River goes to use the bathroom. That turns out to be a tricky endeavor. With his left arm in a sling, dealing with his pants isn’t as straight-forward as it usually is. Struggling to put them back on, he bumps into a wall, trips and loudly curses, barely stops himself from taking out the shower door and curses even louder. 

Stevie knocks, “You’re alright there?” It takes River few minutes before he gives up and lets her in. There’ve being many instances over the years, when they helped each other in and out of their clothes – excessive drinking, sloppy vomiting, panic attacks, injures, and the like – but never before River’s felt so… so mesmerized, as he does right now, watching the top of Stevie’s head, while she belts his pants and fixes his shirt. 

“So, what did Chrissie say?” his own voice sounds odd to River.

“Well, she said it was either your shoulder or my head,” Stevie replies without interrupting her task, “And all thing being equal, she prefers your shoulder. Told me to thank you anyway.” She looks up at him and flashes a quick smile, “So, thanks, you nutter.”

After Stevie leaves, he splashes cold water on his face. Twice. 

Stevie is in the kitchen, pouring him a cup of tea. “Where did we put your meds?”

“Pocket?” River takes a sip and remembers how thirsty he actually is.

“Yours or mine?” Stevie asks, heading to the living room in search of her jacket and his coat.

River finishes his tea and pours himself another cup before Stevie returns with the tub of pills. 

“You need to take one now, and another one in six hours,” she says after reading the label. “And call for delivery, you have no food.” 

River swallows the pill and asks, “What did Chrissie actually say?” For a moment, Stevie gets that awful look from last night once again, but quickly fights it off with a forced smile, “She… well, things are moving along.”

River waits.

“And,” Stevie checks the time, “I need to get going. She sent a car to take me to the station…” Under River’s determined stare, she offers, “I’ll stop by later to check up on you and...”

“I am going with you,” River interrupts.

“You are injured, you are off the case,” Stevie’s attempt at being reasonable doesn’t sound right. “Doc said rest and fluids. And to be careful with that,” she points at River’s shoulder.

“What does he know?!” River scoffs, “I am your superior officer. You were shot at under my command, I have to be a part of the investigation,” confidently River dismisses Stevie’s reasons, and then adds softly, “I told you I’m not letting you out of my sight until we figure this out.”

Stevie looks away, and just like the enchantment of the last half an hour is broken – there is a shooter on the loose and Stevie’s life is in danger.


	4. Chapter 4

The hotel room is rather small, and it smells of damp carpets and despair. The officer, assigned to Stevie, lets them in, nods to River, and leaves. Stevie walks to the bed in the middle of the room, drops her bag, and sits heavily, her back to River. He remains at the door, watching her.

They haven’t exchanged a word since they left the police station. While in the car the officer made several attempts to start a conversation, but eventually gave up. And so, in complete silence they went to Stevie’s apartment for her to collect a few things, then - around London for a while, until they reached this hotel.

“You should go,” she says after a long pause, her back is hunched. “You should…”

“Stevie,” River interrupts, but he has no idea how to continue, “I am… I am so, so sorry…”

And he is. He is also angry, and worried, and scared for her. And he is also very, very disappointed that Stevie has never so much as mentioned to him her investigation of her own family. The investigation she’s being conducting all by herself for the past several months, while she sat at her desk, few feet away from his. While she rode in the car next to him. While they ate, and talked, and walked, and… 

“Why haven’t you said anything?” It comes out against River’s better judgement. But there it is. Out. Because the one person he trusts explicitly, the one person he’d giving his life for and knows she’d do the same for him, the one person, he’s relied on to help him carry on through the worst, the one person he lo… treasures more than life…, the one person… River breathes. In and out. In and out. And desperately tries not to say it, but says it anyway, “You should’ve told me…”

She shakes her head, “No, River, there was nothing you could’ve done…”

He knows it is not about him. He understands Stevie must be going through hell right now. And yet that horrible realization of being rejected, like a tidal wave, swallows him whole, and all he is left to do is to try and keep on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Stevie, her back is still to him, thankfully doesn’t notice his humiliation. “River, I should tell you something else.”

Breathe. In and out. In and out. The hot angry tears swell in his eyes, and he is trying his damnest not to sniffle, when he utters, “Else?”

“Frankie…”

The little fat shit, drunk enough to shoot at his own sister?! River, his fingers rolling into tight fists for the umpteen time today, wishes he was the arresting officer. And here she is, still worried about that arsehole. Always Frankie, everything for Frankie. Up to the last penny. Wait. “The money you gave me last night? I left it in my coat, at my flat.” 

“No. No, it’s not about the money.” Stevie sighs. “Look, there is something… It will come out soon enough, and I want you to know first. It’s,“ she pauses, “See, Frankie is not my brother.”

River barely manages to squash a daft “he is not?”

“He is… He is…” she clearly has hard time getting it out. 

“Stevie?”

“He is my son,” she whispers.

It takes River a moment to process. Frankie? Son? Stevie has a son? So, there was a block, whom she… Maybe still… And there is some heart-wrenching story... And he is just an old wacko, raving loony tune, who… But then it hits him, “Wait, you were fourteen?!?! How? Who?”

As questions go those are not the clearest, but Stevie understands. “We were in Cork for the summer, and… my mum sent me to take something to… Michael’s house. He was alone, and… I couldn’t… I was too scared to scream…”

At least now he knows what to do. “I am going to kill him.”

“No, River. It’s… No, please, just leave it.”

“I am going to kill that son of a…”

She turns to him and snaps, “No, River, no! Don’t you understand?” She turns away from him again, and continues calmer, “Jimmy, and mum, and all of them, they’ll say I was easy, I wanted it, I…” She buries her face in her hands, “I can’t deal with that right now. I just can’t.” 

Unneeded once again, River practically feels himself beginning to fall apart. He fights to keep it together, more for Stevie than for himself, really. He breathes, breathes in and out as hard as he can, thinks what else… Is there anything else? “I am sorry,” comes out almost automatically, “I am sorry, Stevie, I…” What? Just want to help? Want to shield you from the whole world? From your own damn family? From anyone, from anything… But mostly from himself, because he is a mess, and she doesn’t need it, she doesn’t need him, she doesn’t… 

“Now you know,” Stevie says, her face is still buried in her hands, “So, you should go, River. Let me think. I have to figure out…”

“I can’t leave you, Stevie! I can’t!”

The crack in his voice makes her turn to look at him. “River?”

And he can’t stop, he can’t rein in his despair, and he can’t hide it. “I love you. I love you more than life… More than life.” He is crying, because he knows he shouldn’t be saying it to her. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he can’t help it. No amount of breathing in and out is enough to prevent him from going farther down that rabbit hole. “I love you…” he croaks.

He is so consumed by his own shame and helplessness he doesn’t notice when Stevie gets up and slowly walks to him. 

“River?” Realizing how close she suddenly is, River makes one more frantic attempt at measured breathing, but fails. Stevie studies him for a short while, then takes a hold of his right sleeve and leads him into the room. Obediently, he follows. 

She guides them to the only armchair in the corner and motions River to sit down. He does, and good thing too, because all the forced breathing makes him lightheaded. 

For the next few long moments, River stares at the stain on the carpet by his shoe and tries to collect his thoughts, if not his dignity. He knows he has to look Stevie in the eye and tell her that he’ll be alright, she doesn’t have to deal with his pathetic meltdown, that he is sorry he’s told her he loved her, that the only thing he’ll ask for is to watch over her while she sleeps to make sure she is safe, because he doesn’t trust her family, that everything will be alright, eventually…

“Stevie,” at last he masters the nerve to face her, “I… You…” He stumbles under the gaze of her blue eyes, tries again, “I am sorry…” 

Stevie moves a little closer, waits for him to stop her, but he doesn’t. After a moment of hesitation, she steps closer yet, careful not to disturb his slinged left arm. As if hypnotized, he watches her hand slowly moving to his face. When Stevie strokes his cheek, River is horrified to realize that he is still crying. Bloody nutter, he begins to think, and then stops thinking all together, because there is this new look on Stevie’s face that he can’t completely categorize. All he is left to do is breathe. In and out. In and out. And then she runs her fingers lightly through his hair, and he is suddenly stuck somewhere between in and out. And then she smiles, “John…”

In the murky light of a rainy early morning hour the hotel room seems even more dejected that it did last night. The lumpy mattress and flat pillows do nothing to improve the impression.

River stares at the ceiling, considering if it is actually grey or just looks like that now, reflecting the general bleakness of the upcoming day. By his side, Stevie whimpers in her sleep. He glances at her, hesitates, and then lightly rubs her back. As if in response, she flings her leg over his. River chuckles, looks at the ceiling once again, then back at Stevie. 

He really likes watching over her while she sleeps, River decides. Just like this, wrapped around him, relaxed, calm. Safe.

Beautiful...

River scoffs. He is bananas. Barking, barking mad, batty, bonkers, crackers, crackpot, crazy, crazed, delirious, demented, deranged, off his rocker. A loony. 

A sentimental old fool… 

Stevie throws her right arm across his stomach, barely avoiding hitting his slinged left arm. River oomphs and shifts slightly to accommodate Stevie’s various limbs. He then puts his hand on her back and pulls her closer to him. Stevie sighs and snuggles into his side. River contemplates their positions for a moment. Satisfied, he tightens his grip on Stevie. There, this is better. He smiles.


End file.
